


Three Kisses & A Totally Not-Christmas Gift

by Nununununu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1980s, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Celebrations, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Tudor Era, christmas through the ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21865372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley during one Christmas Eve and two Christmases, plus a lot of things stuffed in pastry, a trip to Woolworths and a hint that ultimately wasn't needed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Gift Exchange





	Three Kisses & A Totally Not-Christmas Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miele_Petite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miele_Petite/gifts).



> In two parts and a coda. The traditions, events and weather etc. mentioned here are all based on reality as much as my internet research allowed :)
> 
> The tale of Madelon can be found on websites such as [here](http://www.ancientpages.com/2018/12/24/beautiful-legend-of-the-christmas-rose-a-symbol-of-love-and-hope/), which describes the Christmas rose as 'a symbol of love and hope'. No doubt Crowley would deny knowing this.
> 
> Update: changed date pub to Christmas day (posted for challenge 20.12).

_The Christmas of 1601_

Aziraphale told himself he was having a quite a jolly old time, really.

The yule log was smouldering away in the great hearth, the touch of saffron in the minst pyes was delightful and the pastry was adorned with the dearest image of the little Christ child. Having felt obliged to join in with four long weeks of fasting, Aziraphale’s mouth was watering[1] at the array of meats adorning the table of his host, a wealthy family man the angel had been tasked with blessing on his return from Scotland. Aziraphale simply –

Well, he simply wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t performed said blessing yet. It wasn’t as if he was _waiting_ for something – some _one_ – honestly, and there was nothing whatsoever wrong with his host – the aging man had been avuncular in the time they’d spent together, if a touch unconventional, and even ebullient, welcoming Aziraphale into his inner circle of confidants without the angel needing to put forth much effort at all. He’d merely worn his best doublet topped with a pleasingly elaborate pleated ruff, smiled and nodded and played his part, and tried to forget himself in the atmosphere once Christmas Day arrived. The carol singers had been pitch perfect – after being touched by just a _little_ angelic influence – and the Mystery Play surprisingly involving, and Aziraphale couldn’t satisfactorily explain why he was so – so – out of sorts.

Really, he and Crowley had spent _centuries_ without seeing each other. There was no reason at all why Aziraphale should be thinking back to their brief time spent together at the Globe and the roaring success _Hamlet_ had become, thanks to their Arrangement, and he definitely shouldn’t be –

He shouldn’t be missing his – _hmm_. It went without saying Heaven strongly wouldn’t like him using the term. But in the privacy of his thoughts in this moment, Aziraphale could use the word _friend_[2].

And he _was_ missing him.

Still, it wasn’t as if Crowley was going to show up at this Christmas feast in the countryside when he could be – could be getting up to _all_ _sorts_ goodness knows where.

“Oh!”

So Aziraphale had no idea why his eye should fall on a red-headed, slippery looking sort of dark-clad figure who had an expression on his face like he might have slipped something in Wassail bowl that had gone around earlier alongside the traditional crust of bread.

“Crowley!” His low mood swept away by undeniably pleased surprise, Aziraphale was rising to his feet and elbowing his way very politely through the crowd of merry gentry filling the hall before he quite knew what he was about. He hadn’t felt any demonic influence going on in the local area, so why was Crowley –

He caught hold of Crowley’s arm gently just above the elbow before he could finish the thought.

“Angel,” The surprise in Crowley’s drawl as he tilted his head to look at Aziraphale over the top of his dark glasses was perfectly articulated. Almost convincing, in fact.

“What _are_ you doing here, my dear?” Aziraphale didn’t intend the question as an accusation; it just popped out.

“Oh, you know – finished doing a bit of temptation not _that_ far off; thought I’d drop in for the archery,” Crowley gestured vaguely towards the exit and the grounds beyond the windows outside the hall, where a game had been set up earlier. Aziraphale had been pleased to get in a few decent shots himself. Crowley concluded the gesture with a shrug, “Reckoned I might as well stick around for the snacks.”

“It _is_ a good spread,” Aziraphale could only agree, glancing appreciatively at the feast piled high on the tables, even as he was aware he was smiling too much – and not in the slightest about the food. Practically glowing, really, which – well, one probably shouldn’t; not when it was a demon one was shimmering at. It wouldn’t do to draw the attention of any of their superiors either Above or Below, after all.

Around them, people were breaking out into bursts of song in unknowing response to the angelic aura Aziraphale sought to hastily winch back in under control, sitting up straighter, spontaneously planning little acts of kindness, that sort of thing.

“I take it you’re here for all the birds,” Crowley’s attention was trained entirely casually on the table, as if he had no idea about Aziraphale's slip up, his grin a touch crooked at one side as he nodded at the pie. He didn’t look much twitchier than was generally typical, to Aziraphale’s relief.

“Oh, the coffin!” Succeeding in tucking everything that should be tucked away, Aziraphale blinked over at the pastry dish of pigeon stuffed in a partridge stuffed in a chicken stuffed in a goose and shook his head slightly, “I do wonder what people will come up with next.”[3]

“It’s the thing with the turkeys that baffles me,” Cackling a little, Crowley stepped backwards out of the way of a servant carting a heavy tray, and Aziraphale abruptly realised exactly where they had found themselves standing.

“My dear,” He tugged at the dark cloth covering the elbow still in his grip, “Perhaps you might want to step away?”

“Hm?” Crowley instead stepped back once more, this time right next to the double loops of greenery displayed on the wall at the entrance to the hall – the presence of the Kissing Bough that was their jolly host’s idea of a ‘homely’ welcoming touch. “What, to here?”

He was giving the angel his very best innocent face.[4]

“Oh no, not there,” Aziraphale flapped a little, given his demonic friend had managed to position himself directly next to the effigy of Jesus adorning the Bough, “Isn’t it –”

Painful for you, he was going to say, but that crooked grin was creeping back onto Crowley’s face.

“It does itch a bit,” the demon admitted, hunching his shoulders, “But aren’t you going to say a proper hello?”

“I –” Aziraphale started to respond. Stopped. Then burst out, “Crowley, are you trying to tempt me into kissing you?”

Crowley shrugged those hunched shoulders, “Is it working?”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale sniffed. He smiled and continued, before Crowley could seek to smooth his expression over in the way he did sometimes in the effort to conceal disappointment or anything else, “Although our host does enjoy these little idiosyncrasies. It would be rude of us not to bow to human convention, don’t you think?”

“I do like a bit of rudeness,” Crowley mused, as if he wasn’t already leaning in, and Aziraphale leaned in likewise and, well –

A fight over nothing broke out in one part of the hall, while the cooked peacock suddenly seemed to miraculously come back to life for a few seconds in another, all of its feathers radiating light like rainbow fire, and these things successfully caused enough distraction that no one – on Earth, Above or Below – noticed an angel and demon kissing a belated hello.

~*~

_Christmas Eve no small amount of time later, in 1982_

Crowley was feeling quite pleased with himself.

The freezing fog over the last couple of nights had been inspired and the weather enough to keep everyone miserable during the day. With Christmas Day tomorrow, he was heading out to cause a bit of last minute mayhem, planning on inspiring some scuffles amongst frantic shoppers where primary-coloured foil decorations got trampled underfoot and red-faced children became wound up pleading incessantly for the last few copies of the _Beano_ and _Dandy_. The low level irritation such things caused would be like a Hellish balm on his demonic soul – and a far better way of spending his day than chipping away at some doddering old priest or whatever it was Hell no doubt expected him to be doing.

No ability to see into the future, that lot. Crowley was already making plans to increase the madness humans plunged into during the Christmas shopping season, such as by setting up a particular day of sales really quite early on, just to ensure no one had any money left when the actual holiday came around[5].

For the time being though, Crowley was wandering around his flat as he prepared to go out, garbed very fashionably in a pristine leather jacket, trousers that hugged his slender legs, black fingerless gloves and a hairstyle that was notably gravitationally confused at the front. He had also taken to wearing neon jelly bracelets for a splash of colour – and almost entirely because it made a certain angel wince – and was transporting a particular potted plant in one hand, showing it around for a last goodbye to its friends.

“Having already said that I have _no_ idea how you snuck in,” Crowley informed the timid intruder, “It’s time you bid your brief life here adieu. And that’s a message to you lot.” Pointing a finger at the rest of them, he narrowed his eyes, “You don’t allow any interlopers. No seeds blowing in through the windows –” The windows had never been opened in the entire time he’d owned the apartment, “No surprises mixed in with your soil; that kind of thing.”

The verdant plant life all looked suitably chastened. Pacified, Crowley tossed the miscreant in a plastic bag for more convenient disposing of and stalked out the door.

Making it to the local Woolworths in time to hear a tinny rendition of _Save Your Love_ playing on the shop speakers – an inspirationally insipid Christmas chart topper whose chorus had a way of infuriatingly remaining in one’s head throughout the day – Crowley happened upon a certain angel waiting very politely in a futile hope that the crowd would part to allow him at the final remaining copy of the _Radio Times._

“Here,” Swooping the magazine up effortlessly, Crowley dangled it in front of Aziraphale with extreme disinterest.

“Oh!” Aziraphale made a show of jumping, which implied he had been well aware of Crowley’s presence, and the look he shot him – gratitude tinged with a bit of pink-cheeked appreciation that didn’t have much to do with the magazine – only confirmed it. He accepted the _Radio Times_ along with the plastic bag Crowley just so happened to pass him at the same time, and blinked down at the latter somewhat myopically. “What is this, my dear?”

“Never mind that now,” For all he might have caused the crowd of desperate shoppers, Crowley didn’t desire to be part of it for any longer than he already had. He jerked his chin in the direction of the exit, “Come on, let’s get some lunch.”

“It’s quarter to three,” Aziraphale bit his lip, which left Crowley feeling a tad flustered for more than one reason – he’d been so distracted on appearing so absolutely nonchalant about giving the angel the plant he’d failed to even realise the time of day – and the sight of those white teeth closing over that plump lower lip was –

Was – was nothing much and nothing to do with the warmth that leapt into his belly, or the nerves that absolutely weren’t jangling inside him at the thought of what the angel might do or say when he realised what Crowley had – had –

Offloaded on him, that was all. Just a dumb bit of greenery he should have tossed into a bin really, expect the angel probably would have been sad. Aziraphale’s heart had been bleeding for Crowley’s plants for some reason ever since the demon had drunkenly bemoaned their bad behaviour one time.

“We could get a late lunch if you haven’t eaten,” Aziraphale did indeed look tempted, “Or I do have a tin full of fresh mince pies and a bottle of bad Chardonnay at home.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows even as he accompanied Aziraphale to the till by the door, waiting while the angel scrupulously counted out the exact change for the magazine, “Chardonnay, angel?” 

“ _Bad_ Chardonnay,” The face the angel made was quite something to behold, “It changed, when I tried, into an awfully soulless Lambrusco, only to revert right back again. It doesn’t even go with the mince pies.”

“How in Hea- Hel- on Earth did you end up with a bottle of that?” Crowley wasn’t keeping a close eye on the plant in its plastic bag as he and Aziraphale wound their way through the shoppers entering the store as they left it, not at all.

Aziraphale was holding the bag like it was something precious despite not knowing yet what was in it anyway, so there was no need. There also wasn’t any need for Crowley to notice this or for his belly to feel further warmed by it, although he – and his stomach – did.

“A Christmas present from the owners of the book shop next door,” Aziraphale’s mouth crinkled into a complex little expression more complicated than Crowley had expected. He’d evidently felt obliged to accept, however he clearly feared striking up any form of friendship might result in even more customers straying accidentally through his own shop door. “They really are quite lovely, you know. I just –”

“Mm?” Crowley provided even as he unthinkingly held one of the doors to Woolworths open for the angel to step outside[6].

“I just wish people didn’t think literature of any kind was a suitable Christmas present,” Aziraphale burst out a little hotly, just as clearly not meaning this in the slightest except for the fact he was so fiercely resentful of having to sell any of his horde.

“Haven’t you shut up shop for the season by now?” Crowley asked as they came to a stop across the street, near a coffee stall. He made a show of perusing the menu, “Come over to my place if it bothers you so much.”

He strove to ignore the way he heard the angel’s breath catch.

“Oh – Crowley,” Aziraphale sounded – well, a bit beside himself. Not in a bad way, though. Sort of hand-wringing but with happiness, in that way of his.

Crowley very casually held himself still and didn’t react when a gentle hand closed over his wrist.

“Do you know, I’ve been looking forward to watching the first showing of _The Snowman_ on Boxing Day,” Aziraphale didn’t quite hesitate, “In fact, I was hoping that perhaps – perhaps you might not mind me watching it on your – your ‘teevee’?” He pronounced the word like it had just been invented, clutching the _Radio Times_ and plastic bag with his free hand. “I do have a little one in the back room, you know, but the colours of all the drawings are meant to be lovely and I just thought that maybe a bigger screen –”

“Yeah, I suppose you can if you want,” Unable to take much more of the angel’s cautious hope, Crowley shrugged as if he wasn’t abruptly aware of his heart rate picking up.

Stupid thing was malfunctioning. He didn’t even need it to beat.

“My dear,” Aziraphale was consequently all smiles, “That would be just delightful.” He blinked at the coffee stall, “Oh goodness, I’m keeping you from your food. Do you at least want a drink?”

Crowley, who signally didn’t eat much and had purely meant the invitation of lunch as an excuse to spend time together and hopefully get drunk, blinked at the stall likewise.

“Actually mince pies – don’t sound terrible,” he allowed. It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ to go to the book shop, of course, where Aziraphale would have turned the sign to ‘closed’ and pulled down the shutters, and the lamps would shine all golden around them, the air cosy and warm. It just –

It just appealed to the reptilian parts of him, obviously.

“We can bin that Chardonnay and have some hot chocolate,” Struck by an idea as they started walking in the direction of his shop, Aziraphale looked positively gleeful, “I’ll make it with a good splash of _decent_ alcohol.”

“Angel, you _are_ bad,” Crowley couldn’t help grinning in approval.

For all Aziraphale seemed to try to give him a look of offended reproach in response, it really didn’t work.

“Well, if I am to be ‘bad’, I might as well be a little ‘worse’, might I not?” His eyebrows had begun doing their most hopeful slant as they reached the doorway rather faster than humans would have found physically possible, given both were unconsciously willing it. He raised the bag, “I just can’t wait any longer, my dear.”

“U-uh,” Crowley signally _did not_ _stutter_ – he had never imagined the angel saying anything similar under quite different circumstances, no, certainly not. He managed to wave an artfully careless hand regardless, “Of course.”

“Oh _Crowley_ ,” Peeking into the bag, Aziraphale broke out in a simply enormous smile, “Isn’t it beautiful.” Tucking the plastic bag in his pocket for later reuse, he proceeded to gush over the little potted Christmas rose. It perked up under the angel’s attention, putting forth a few new buds that rapidly unfurled into flowers.

Crowley glared at the plant.

“The thing strayed in amongst mine by mistake,” he found himself explaining without intending to, intently conscious of the feel of two spots of colour burning high on his cheeks however he sought to will them away, knowing he was just digging himself a bigger hole, “Reckon it was that kind you gave that grubby shepherd kid all that time back.” He studied his nails in place of twisting the jelly bracelets around the wrist that angel had earlier touched. “You know, whatever her name was. Mad-something.”

“Gosh, that _was_ a long time ago,” Aziraphale appeared, if anything, even more touched, “Dear Madelon.” A wistful crease wrinkled his brow, “Do you know, I’ve never since met such a sweet little child.”

There was the possibility of a nostalgic _tear_ brimming in the corner of one eye as he cradled the plant. Extremely aware of the fact they were doing this in front of Aziraphale’s shop _in public_ , Crowley took one look at the angel and had to look immediately right back away[7].

“I could do without meeting _any_ children, sweet or otherwise.” While there was an amount of amusement to be found in inciting poor behaviour, Crowley couldn’t say he had any desire to personally _experience_ any of it.[8]

“I do appreciate the gift, Crowley,” Aziraphale was now saying, which was perilously close to the forbidden words ‘thank’ and then ‘you’, his gaze heartfelt, “I shall treasure it.”

“It was going to go in the bin else,” Crowley felt obliged to brush the gratitude off, not about to admit he was safe in the knowledge Aziraphale would see right through the protest, and turned to open the book shop door on the angel’s behalf, given Aziraphale was still cradling the plant.

“Oh –” The little noise Aziraphale made caused him to stop. Glancing over at him, he found Aziraphale looking up.

“Oh,” Struck by an inexplicable suspicion along with a sort of sinking feeling[9], Crowley followed his gaze.

Sure enough, a jaunty bunch of mistletoe hung above their heads.

“Neighbourhood kids?” Crowley asked a bit weakly.

“Perhaps,” Another little crease was back between Aziraphale’s brows, but his expression was bright enough as he tilted his head down again to smile at Crowley, “Well?”

“Well?” In honesty, Crowley felt exceedingly stupid for a moment. This was perhaps something to do with the fact he felt almost paralysed by –

By something that totally wasn’t a ridiculous emotion like _hope_.

“We would be rude not to,” Aziraphale commented almost gently, like they were centuries ago and had encountered each other at someone’s Kissing Bough.

“I do like a bit of rudeness –” Crowley managed a bit faintly given that Aziraphale was leaning in towards him over his plant. The demon closed his eyes behind his sunglasses in what he told himself was self-defence: if he couldn’t see it happening, he could claim it didn’t, or something like that.

His mouth still moved against the angel’s enthusiastically. There might even have been some clutching involved.

Out of the partially opened window of the decidedly different book shop next door to the angel’s, a faint strain of music could be heard playing, the radio proclaiming that ‘ _love like ours will last eternally.’_

~*~

_Coda: The First Christmas After The ApocaWasn’t_

Aziraphale woke sprawled on the sofa in a bookshop that contained some really quite interesting first editions he’d come to terms with the fact now existed, and a demon snoring lightly underneath him.

Also, all around them, were wreathes and garlands and boughs of assorted greenery, a good amount of it mistletoe.

“You think someone’s trying to hint at something?” Crowley, snorting in not quite sardonic amusement, decided to join him in being conscious. _Sans_ glasses, he blinked in the sunlight spilling into the back room of the shop from the gaps in between the blinds. Aziraphale manifested and then raised a wing to shelter the demon’s sensitive eyes.

“I’m not quite sure that I think we need telling,” Repressing a smile, he then waved a hand, vanishing the lot[10], along with the wine bottles from yesterday crowding the coffee table and both of their hangovers.

They didn’t need the excuse any more, either.

“I’m not sure we do,” Crowley was grinning up at him and up at the wing, that crooked grin Aziraphale was so very fond of, and a little Christmas rose perched on the coffee table – that had somehow seen fit to survive decades as well as a decidedly intense fire – suddenly put forth another few blooms.

“I’ll just say good morning then, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled back at his demon and bent to kiss him, and smiled even more at the way Crowley was pushing up against him a bit helplessly before too long, appealingly breathless as he kissed back.

“Good morning, angel,” Crowley – who had frequently in his time reminded Aziraphale that neither of them actually needed to breathe – sounded wonderfully close to gasping when they finally parted, too. 

“Do you know, I really do believe today will be lovely,” Aziraphale beamed, busy finding ways to fit their bodies in even closer together despite the fact he was already on top of the being he held most precious in the entire world –

And it was.

[1] Embarrassingly literally, in fact

[2] All those years later when he insisted to Crowley that they were _not_ friends, Aziraphale did not, admittedly, believe this. He was just very well versed in denial

[3] Unfortunately what humans came up with next was Puritanism, which led Aziraphale to feel rather conflicted, given he supposed he was duty bound to support it in a sense, when, in honesty, he wasn’t personally very keen on certain types of moderation at all

[4] Which, due to both his very nature and personality, wasn’t innocent in the slightest

[5] And thus the Black Friday sales would later come fully into being. Aziraphale, on the other hand, took sole responsibility for Christmas jumpers.

[6] He then left it to swing shut in the faces of the next shoppers to try to leave the store, so that was all right

[7] Although he would have found himself obliged to behave exactly the same had they been inside.

[8] And could only conclude Hell had been listening – or that _something_ at least (he refrained from thinking Some _one_ ) was punishing him for this comment, given the role he was going to find himself assigned in what was a relatively few years.

[9] A ‘sinking feeling’ wasn’t truthfully what Crowley was feeling in this moment at all

[10] He did make a mental note to pass on a ‘thank you’ to a certain young individual they both knew, even so


End file.
